Dark walls and Enchanted women
by totimbuktu
Summary: Draco is young and simpering at the hands of Lucius, enduring torture and thrown into depression. All this begins to change with the arrival of a new mistress. Rated for future chapters HG/DM
1. Chapter 1: Surprises

Hello all!

Wow, this is like my first official fanfic...it's kind of weird and echoey here. ****looks around** **Well I'm not entirely sure how this will go , but I have to say it was fun writing this first chappy and I hope you enjoy reading. Leave comments and reviews please!

A/N: I technically have to note that I don't own le' lovely Harry Potter series. These character's belong to J.K. Rowling * bows in reverence * and I am merely a serving wench playing with them.

Chapter 1: relief in a little fluffy package

I stopped and had a sudden crushing realization. Caving in like the wooden roof of a age old stone mansion, I was losing the small internal battle. Soon, I

thought, I would ring hollow and cold as the walls of the malfoy manor.

For so long had I been fighting back the demons, that I had forgotten the people in my life that mattered. In her own small way, the smallest daughter of the

butler and I had been friends in our early years.

She had taught me the joys of playing in the dirt and mud when my station had deemed it unnecessary for my tutelage.

Our moving friendship was more so in the eyes of a passerby a sullen withdrawn boy torturing the sweetness of a small girl meant to tend to him.

But as I have found it, those days still warm me and gave me what little humanity I possess.

If humanity is not essential to the members of my family, I have at least had the advantage of some sort of living.

There ended our friendship however, as I understand it, she is now the property of some brusque quiet man on the order of twice her years in age.

When my years determined that I needed not the distraction of a similar-in-age playmate she of course disappeared in the frighteningly discreet manner in

which my father can manage such affairs.

I say as much because the second of the three people to have cared for me to fall by the wayside like chaff was my own mother. By the hands of the man I call

father I lost her soul.

Shaken from his reverie by the heavy thud of the great oak door leading to the wing of the manor reserved for his personal use, Draco stiffened his back in

anticipation of the one person who would so willfully and indiscreetly enter his quarters.

Standing up from the cool marble bench of his outdoor terrace, the blue-eyed adolescent searched out the figure of his father in the dark high arch of the

interior of his room.

He stood with the sun shining on his nearly snow white hair, poised with his hand near the wand hidden in his robes and his chin high and arrogant.

Draco studied the doorway, mentally chastising himself for the fear and anger that reverberated from the tension of his muscles.

Eyes squinted so that even the bright morning sun could not reflect off of the clear blue, Malfoy watched as the swish of Lucius' black cloth passed into the

light of the archway.

While he had lost some of the vision in his left eye from an incident with a giant recruiting for the Dark Lord, Lucius had to control the bile that rose in

his throat when his mental acuity honed in on the fear in his progeny. Recovering from the disgust quickly, Lucius brought Draco's attention to a small

figure to the left, wishing to compartmentalize and forget the slight to his honor until later.

Distracted by the movement of his father's hand as it flew in the direction of a dark hovering shadow, Draco realized at the introduction of a guest able to

travel the distance from the great hall to Draco's alcove, he was not likely to be attacked directly.

Lucius, confident his son had finally come to the conclusion the guest was of some import, addressed Draco.

"Draco, come indoors so I may introduce you to the future mistress of Malfoy manor."

Lucius divulged a great deal of satisfaction from the sick expression that Draco could not mask even after several failed attempts.

Stepping into the room with no small difficulty with coordinating his body with a mind fulls of questions and swirling emotion, Draco noticed the face of his

father's new charge and was unsure of whether he should give in to the urge of his body to buckle and fold.

Her face healthy and tan, lips full with the blush of youth, eyebrows dark lines as if draw in by the hand of a painter, and bright honey brown eyes popping

out of the intelligent and proper face, Malfoy could not believe his sight.

Standing before him was the brown bush of a girl he had tortured in school, facing him with an expression void of recognition.

Queasy with the knowledge of the enchantments likely involved and the lives massacred, Draco closed his eyes and managed a wavering hello mistress to

accompany his customary kiss of her hand.

Lucius drew his son's attention once more, clearing his throat, and giving Draco, a casual glance that's thinly veiled threat froze the thoughts working in

Draco's mind.

This was not the right moment to find out all Draco concluded; expecting a painful debriefing from his father in the room reserved for his instruction and

torture; Hidden behind walls thick enough to mute Draco's screams of agony.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, it's a bit soon for chapter two, but I got a bit of inspiration tonight. I'm taking this cool class on death and dying and I thought I'd work through my thoughts as I wrote. So here goes...

Chapter 2:

A/N: Bow down to J.K. Rowling owner and master of the Harry Potter series. I declare my intentions only to write casual things with said series.

All the lights were dim in the house. As the sound of tearing flesh and screams were stilled to nothing on the outside of the room, Draco felt detached from the primal terror pushed from his lungs in unbridled expressions of pain.

He could hear the screams, wondered at violence of the act taking place, but could not feel any longer.

Several hours into these sessions Draco withdrew, unable to feel pain beyond what he had felt. Unable even to remember how hard the imaginary knives plunged into his body or how deep and wide they cut. The hot fire turned to ice and then nothing.

As hard as Draco tried to remain there, to cling to his humanity and sense, his survival instinct, the impending fear of death always came over him. Then he shut down, putting his fear and anger into a knot at his very core so that he would have something left; something would survive to sustain him.

Lucius liked to work his most heinous imaginings into the slow start of torture, knowing that Draco's body would grow limp after his work was so exquisite it overpowered Draco's senses. Still it was some consolation to continue his ministration for a few minutes with his student's unresponsive form.

No matter how familiar the routine, the smell of fear pumped adrenaline through Lucius and gave him release. Needing that after a particularly difficult transaction with a few dark wizards for the current state of the mud-blood girl, Lucius felt much better already.

The lighting in the cell was bright, fluorescent, casting hard lines and shadows on the pool of blood and mangled flesh that was his son after a few rounds of dark enchantments.

Lucius had seen better men go mad, but his son for all his weakness was a surprisingly entertaining and resilient subject.

Still, so many years since Draco had first crumpled to his knees under the cruciatus curse, the blue eyes flashed defiant the first few minutes before they read of fright, then glazed over.

Now the eyes were glass and hard, reflecting no sign of humanity. Appreciating that his son had to be restored for future use, Lucius flicked his wrist to repair the damage he had wrought as he had many times before.

Over the next few minutes the exposed sinus and muscle of Draco's joints would be covered with soft unmarred flesh, pale and strangely blue-hued in the light.

At this point the boy would still remain mentally removed, laying in wait for the conversation detailing matters of the manor and Draco's future duties as a servant to the dark cause.

Of course Draco did not have the wherewithal to be anything great, Lucius thought.

But a small role, perhaps a pawn on the battlefield would do.

It still did bother Lucius however, that he son did not seem to appreciate the healing process, not even rearranging the twists and turns of his limbs, looking much like a pile of hacked body parts until he was taken back to his bed.

5 days later...

Draco started at the feeling of something fluttering over his face.

Once, in a moment of weakness Draco had been scared by a rat and his father had witnessed.

Every other torture session or so, Lucius would work in some of Draco's fears.

The movement reminded Draco of the carpet of rats advancing towards him and the smell of their filth and teeth clawing and enveloping him.

As the rats devoured and climbed into his mouth over his eyes and nose, blacking out the light in his dream, Draco lunged at the deadly intruders and cried out.

He hadn't realized he had yelled and struck out at something different until his vision cleared and he saw the concern filling a set of brown eyes and the owner nursing a quickly bruising arm.

Startled and imagining the torture he would receive once Lucius learned of the development Draco sank into the bed, miserable at the thought of two sessions in one week.

It had been months since his father had worked up the rage to break Draco's body before it had completely healed.

Draco had noticed the pain was more raw, if that was at all possible, when his mind was this weak, though the torture was shorter for want of a response.

Still the brown eyes shone with surprise, they did not have the gleam of evil delight at Draco's misfortunes that the servants shared with his father. That he could appreciate. That he soaked up like biscuits in honeyed tea.

Draco flinched at the memory.

Sitting in a green shining garden, playing a game of hide and seek with his companion as his mother sat at a little iron tea table.

She was beautiful he remembered, her hair picking up the sunlight in different notes. That day it was a lovely carrot cold, orange with the afternoon light. Her beautiful eyes adored her son, lavishing all the love he would know for longer than she could imagine on him in that sweet moment. He had her eyes; Clear, blue, so high and bright, like the sky on a dry winter day.

Her soft white robes, draped beautiful and airy on her body, embellished with little winking pearls and crystals, giving her the appearance of the enchantresses in story books he was read at night. While Lucius spared Draco no Spartan training, Draco's mother gave her son the warm love that she could without garnering censure from her husband's fast-acting wand.

Leaving behind only short fading memories that had become story-like with the years, Draco had nothing left of his mother but the spells she had taught him in the garden. Thus, Draco could heal and grow wondrous things.

Climbing spires of roses and stout herbs for remedies, delicious honeysuckle and orange, exotic succulents and tiger lily were all within Draco's reach.

Taking this knowledge Draco moved his hand slowly towards Hermione, putting his hand were the skin flushed angrily and whispered a soft spell. The old magic did not need a wand.

Incredulous, Hermione held up her arm to inspect it. Painless, perfect, bones and musculature intact, she had to wonder at this mysterious boy who appeared so weak and vulnerable, but had warm healing hands.

**

Okay...that was chapter two. Whew, that didn't take me as long as I thought. So, I would love to write more, but I only get better with comments. Did you think the chapter was too short. Issues with the format? Would you like too see me apply grammar more liberally. Maybe my sentences leave you frustrated? Great! I'd love to hear from you even if you just like it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This story is pretty old and I probably should let it be, but I guess I want to give it a little more. My writing is probably a little stilted from lack of use, but hopefully it will get better with practice.

Also...I don't own the Harry Potter series. I merely borrow these characters.

Some weeks after...

"Here Draco! I told you this existed didn't I!" chirped the voice of a little girl shivering with the cold and excitement.

Not far behind trudged what looked like a miniature of a serious old man, translucent fine hair that shone in the morning and a stern set face with a tiny frill and doublet under his long emerald robes.

Undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm in her partner the little girl pointed at the edge of the pond.

Draco watched as what was initially a mucked-filled hole in the ground at a distance turned into the breeding grounds of the rare solmool fish.

Forgetting his practiced severity the space of white surrounding his small eyes widened as his eyes grew huge and sparkled with amazement.

The small duo leaned over the edge, fingers deep in the cold wet earth, witnessing the secret dance of the fish as they exchanged greetings.

Swirling like white ink, the fish became disembodied when they met their mate.

Travelling in a slow ring they suddenly burst into a beautiful blaze of light, rippling the water and blinding the children with magical intensity.

All motion stolen by the display, they sat dazed as if staring at the sun for the first time as the swirl grew faster and faster and with one sudden peal of sound a small perfect pearl emerged and sank into the water to nestle in the clay-like bed beneath.

Regaining her breath first, Draco's young playmate turned to Draco and kissed him.

It was a quick peck, but Draco could still taste the hint of wild honeysuckle flower and feel the blood rushing to his face.

His once doubled in size eyes now drooped as he let the emotions course through his tiny chest and on through to his legs and settle in a glow.

They had just witnessed an event that most wizards regarded as fable.

The solmool, or lightning fish had not been seen on the European continent since the Dark ages, thought to have died out.

But all that was written on the thin face of the pale and rarely-touched boy was that first unbidden act of love.

Waking from his memory but unwilling to open his eyes, Draco stared at the pink-orange hue of light through his eyelids.

The past few weeks had afforded him so much comfort that he had lost the edge of awareness that had stood ever ready for his father's attack.

Somehow the rise of the dark lord and the necessity of Lucius' presence in the Albanian mountains had coincided with a decreased frequency of teaching sessions.

Draco had barely registered the tint of his lids turning purple with shadow before his body responded in fear and he launched into a defensive crouch on the lawn.

He slit open his eyes to see that the sky had merely clouded over briefly above him.

A fluffy bunny shaped cloud mocked him from above, and Draco scowled at the interruption to one of his least oft repeated memory.

The surge of warmth still elicited by her still had the power to lead Draco into dangerously long revery.

For what else could Draco treat his first and only sincere kiss with but reverence.

Then with a darkness he remembered the form of his love's brother, broken shoulders sloping downward as he regarded Draco for the last time.

She had been gone only for a few hours after their customary outing before Draco had looked out the window to see the boy there, standing as if moving would mean the end.

He remained a statue only long enough to cry what might have been the allotment of tears a person could be given in a lifetime.

Pierce was gone the next day and then the lessons started.

Shaking the incessant memories from his mind Draco stood and gathered the small cloth he had been laying on.

Draco had mere hours before his father was expected to return and speak with Draco. 


End file.
